


Comfort

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [36]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmare, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3236309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Tumblr prompt: “Can Theron have another nightmare but this time he actually starts screaming in his sleep and Zev has to wake him up and ends up cuddling and doting on him until he feels better and calms down?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

Zevran rapidly blinked away the heaviness of sleep, body waking up all at once after he allowed himself the luxury of a few hazy seconds of half-awareness. He lifted his head up and automatically glancing around the dim tent for any sign of a threat. The sun hadn’t risen yet, the lump at the end of the bedroll was the dog, there was no-one else in the tent with them or standing outside it... Had he heard something, or was it his imagination?

A mild frown creased his forehead, and he was about to lower his head back to the pillow when he heard another noise from close by, something like a whimper or a sleep-slurred mutter. His gaze flicked to the scarred back in front of  him. Ah.

Even though the Archdemon had been defeated and something resembling order restored to Ferelden, Theron still had to get through lingering nightmares. The blond had assumed up until recently they were the same as normal, about darkspawn and the Archdemon, until the other night when he could have sworn he’d heard Theron mutter the name of a certain black-haired witch and wake up on the verge of crying.

Zevran sat up carefully, exposing his bare chest to the cool air of a spring night, and looked down at the Dalish elf lying beside him. Usually, Theron would have woken from the nightmares under his own steam, perhaps mumbled an excuse as he dressed and left the tent to go talk with the other Grey Warden. Now, with these nightmares Alistair could be of no help. None of the others could.

“Come back to me, _mi amor_.” The Antivan whispered in the dark as he gently felt out the curve of the ranger’s broad shoulder, a strained noise that wasn’t quite a cry the only response. The dog stirred at last from the foot of the bed, let out an uneasy whine. Really, how was that dog supposed to be a guard dog when he couldn’t even sense his master’s suffering?

Theron rolled onto his back, grey eyes shooting open with a startled, involuntary gasp. His body tensed briefly when he felt someone touching him, but he relaxed when he saw it was just Zevran, sitting there calmly and watching him in barely-hidden concern.

“Sorry.” Was the first, the only word from the Dalish elf’s mouth as he sat up as well and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes tightly, as if he could squeeze the afterimages away. Politely, the blond pretended not to notice the hint of tears he brushed away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Zevran answered firmly, shifting closer and opening his arms so the ranger could lean against him if he wished. “That hasn’t stopped you from apologising repeatedly.” He added thoughtfully, watching Theron ball his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The healed burn scars along his shoulders shimmered gently as he moved his arms, dropped his hands into the pool of furs in his lap.

The dog got to his feet and padded over to sit on Theron’s other side, a warm and stable rock. The ranger absently draped an arm over the mabari’s solid back, scratched behind his ears briefly and murmuring in Elvish. His shaken emotions craved normality at times like this, Zevran had noticed. He needed to ground himself in the waking world, whether it was in idle chatter about poisons or stroking the dog, worried Grey Warden discussions or turning to Zevran for the comfort of skin against skin.

Theron eventually leaned back against Zevran’s chest with a shaky exhalation, and the blond wrapped his arms loosely around the ranger’s chest and midsection, holding and keeping him close.

“What happened was not your fault. You are alive, and that is all that matters.” The Antivan whispered gently, words he’d repeated endlessly over the past days and weeks, eyes on the glint of gold in the other elf’s ear rather than the scars on his body. Very, very slowly, after the dog had returned to his place at the foot of the bed and began to whuff to himself in his dreams, Zevran felt Theron relax in his arms as the clinging darkness of the nightmares left. He kept talking softly about everything and nothing, until the first pale rays of the sun made the tent canvas glow and Theron began to respond, slowly drawn from his self-imposed silence.

It was all Zevran could do. All that either of them could do.

**Author's Note:**

> The next two fics will be linked, for reasons that'll (hopefully) become obvious once the first one's up.  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/post/109206076293/series-update


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